Chapter 19 The Rescue

Alex snuck past the loading dock, edging toward the cavernous amphitheatre that opened before her. Listening intently, she scanned the room for any signs of Amanda's guards, deciding it was safe for the moment. With a pounding heart she approached the interrogation chair, noting the two metal carts rolled up to the right side. Moving as if in slow motion, she noted the hand lying limply encased within its iron fetter, then glanced down at the blood spattered floor. Approaching the chair from the left, the first thing she saw was his smashed and bloodied right hand, still bound. Raising her eyes to his profile, she covered her mouth to keep from crying out.

It was him, but his face was bloody and beaten and he was unconscious. His head was tilted back, held in place by duct tape spanning his forehead and throat. His eyes were closed, his white tee shirt stained with blood and dirt. Reaching for a scalpel she slit the duct tape, freeing his head and watching as it fell to his right shoulder. Gently removing the tape she touched his forehead, smoothing back his bloody matted hair. He was unconscious, making it even more of a challenge for her to get him out.

Please God, she pleaded inwardly, help me get him out of here!

Quickly bending to search for the release, she spied a metal toggle switch and flipped it in the opposite direction. With a loud clank the fetters opened, so she shot up and rushed toward the cabinets, thinking of his hand first and foremost. Grabbing what she wanted, she dropped everything onto the table at his side except the plastic cuff which she carefully maneuvered beneath his palm. Gently lifting his mangled hand, she braced it with several pads of gauze and quickly wrapped it inside the sleeve. Suddenly he jerked, moaning as his eyelids fluttered. Then he choked and gasped, slowly coming to his senses. She gripped his shoulder and leaned closer.

"Darling it's me," she whispered, kissing his forehead as he turned his head away with a groan of a protest.

"Leave me alone!" he croaked, his voice nearly gone.

"Birkhoff wake up," she pleaded, gripping his upper arms. "It's Alex—let's get you out of here!"

He stilled suddenly, staring at her with unfocused gaze. Inhaling sharply, he stiffened and grabbed her arm. "Get out—she's coming back!" he rasped, his eyes wide.

"We're getting you out of here," she insisted, tugging him forward and sliding her arm behind his back. He gasped in pain, curling his good arm around his ribs.

"Don't want her to get you," he panted, sliding toward the edge of the chair.

"I know darling," she whispered, "careful."

"My hand…" he groaned, nestling it against his chest as he slid off the seat.

"Keep it elevated," she soothed, reaching for the sling she'd found with the supplies. He waited while she lifted it over his head and positioned it for him. He waited, making an obvious effort just to keep his head up.

"Hurry," he croaked, rising somewhat unsteadily. She guided his good arm over her shoulders and turned with him, snagging his jacket from the railing and starting back toward the freight elevator.

"So thirsty," he croaked, looking weaker.

"You're doing great," she smiled nervously, trying not to panic. "I've got water in the car."

They stumbled to the elevator doors and she pushed the button. They parted immediately, and within seconds they were on their way back up to the surface.

He looked up, still slumped against the wall. "How'd you know?" he drawled, his voice cracking as he eyed her intently.

"I'll explain later," she reassured him, concerned by the further slump in his posture. "You ok?"

"Gonna puke," he warned, gagging as he dropped his head again.

She gently stroked his back as he retched but nothing came up. "You'll be fine," she hoped, "take some deep breaths. I think you're dehydrated."

After a moment he straightened, resting his head back and breathing deeply.

The chime announced their arrival, and he straightened, lifting his arm back to her shoulders as she guided him across the loading dock. Just before the stairs he halted, staring at the fuse box.

"Wait," he croaked, veering toward it and snapping it open. He squinted at the contents, then pulled a couple of wires. Finally he punched the keypad with several series of numbers and slammed the cover back. "Let's go!"

She nodded, guiding him down the stairs and across the lot to her car. Helping him into the passenger seat, she eyed the security cameras with a puzzled expression. When she gave him her attention again he'd leaned his head back against the headrest, his eyes closed and his hand nested against his shoulder. She shut the door, climbed in and leaned over to buckle him in, fastening her own seat belt. Then she drove off, burning rubber.

"Let's get you to a hospital," she stated, speeding up the road toward the city.

"Too risky," he croaked, opening his eyes as she nudged him with her water bottle.

"Your hand needs to be treated," she argued, watching him lift it to his lips and drink a few swallows. "No one's following us."

"Oversight's keeping them distracted," he sighed, setting the bottle down, "and Nikita."

"Sophia said she was on the phone with Amanda, trying to bargain for your release."

"Warn her," he gasped as they hit a bump.

"Sorry—I'll call her and tell her I've got you."

There was no response as she made the call, quickly briefing Nikita who'd been setting up a swap. Thankfully that wouldn't be necessary now, but Division didn't have to know that.

"Ok—meet me at Birkhoff's place later, ok? I'll text you the address once I get him settled at the ER."

She glanced over at him, seeing that he was watching her more clearly now.

"What do you mean, you know the address?" she squinted, glancing at him. "You'll explain later? Ok, I guess I'll see you then."

She put her phone down and slowed in the city traffic. "The trauma hospital is your best bet," she reassured him. "They'll have better surgeons right there, and it'll be harder to trace us."

"Ok," he said softly, his eyes on her. He swallowed eyed her soberly. "Thanks for coming for me...I owe you."

She glanced at him in disbelief. "You don't owe me anything—I'm your wife, remember?" she argued, laughing at herself after a second. "What am I doing? I'm sorry for snapping at you like that!"

To her surprise he chuckled, which sounded more like a moan. Wincing at the smile stretching his cracked lips, he closed his eyes in relief. "I love you Alex…"

She reached over, taking his hand and squeezing it. He laced his fingers through hers, breathing out a contented sigh.

"I love you too," she stated, noting the light change to green. "Now let's get your hand taken care of."

Nikita ran a hand through her hair in relief, grateful for Alex's rescue of Birkhoff. They were on their way to the hospital, where she was sure Alex would check him in under some false name. Knowing Birkhoff he'd probably already made fake id's for them to use, so they should be safe for now until she got him treated and back home. Guilty for what she'd put him through, taking that kind of risk despite his insistence that it was foolish, she knew she owed him big time, and she was already planning how to make it up to him. She'd already texted Michael to be careful after informing him Birkhoff was rescued. They had a lot of planning to do once he debriefed with Amanda and got a break to rest, but that was for later. For now she still had some loose ends to tie up, and when she got the incoming call from Division she knew it was time.

"Boy Scout—or Sean Pierce should I say?" she began. "Calling me to set up a meet and collect your little black box?"

"Stop with the games, Nikita," he ordered, his voice a bit shaky beneath the harsh tone. "I know you stole Birkhoff back so what's with the little cat and mouse?"

"It's not a game," she stated calmly, almost smiling at another victory. "Now put Amanda on."

"You were the one who wanted me to be the delivery boy," he growled. "So what's your next move—upload the data and destroy us all?"

"I think I'll save that for another day," she sighed, "now put Amanda on—we're through."

"She's busy," he informed her. "Why bother anyway, now that you've got your little brother back?"

"You're the one playing games—get Amanda on the line," she threatened.

"She's with Percy in one of their little head to heads! You wanted me, so deal with me."

"Alright, but make sure you give her and all of Division this message," she stated. "If any of you threatens any of my family again you'll regret it."

Alex stared at the ER doctor as he flipped on the light behind the x-rays, concerned by his frown of disapproval. When he turned to face her he looked almost angry, his gaze shooting to Birkhoff's pale but battered face. He'd packed Birkhoff's right nostril after administering a local to control his pain, but upon clearing his throat he eyed Alex.

"As you can see from the x-rays of the sinus and his right hand, your husband has suffered a slight puncture of the anterior maxillary sinus wall as well as fracturing of the 2nd and 3rd MCPs—his knuckles, no doubt from a blunt trauma injury. CT scans show no major damage to the intranasal cavity, which should heal quickly, however the hand trauma is another matter.

She stared at him in silence, waiting for him to continue. He sighed mightily, shaking his head.

"I'm afraid I don't buy your story about the fight," he added, picking up his clipboard to write notes. "It's clear that his knuckles were fractured by a blunt instrument, I'd say a hammer if I didn't know better."

Alex squeezed Birkhoff's good hand, and he opened his eyes to look up at the doctor. "You're good," he croaked, closing his eyes again. "It was a hammer."

She exchanged looks with the doctor, whose frown deepened. "It's something that cannot be treated simply, and will no doubt necessitate percutaneous external fixation with Kirchner wires, but the hand surgeon will be by shortly to confirm."

"You're talking surgery," Birkhoff stated, eyeing the doctor with some effort.

"No, I don't think that's indicated," he reassured him, turning at the knock on the door. A head poked in, and they stared at the Indian doctor who smiled and pushed it open. He went to Birkhoff, glancing down at his bloody cut open bandages before eyeing him intently.

"I'd shake your hand if it wasn't the right," he apologized, nodding to the ER doctor and to Alex. "I'm Dr. Pandaraboyina, the hand surgeon. Might I have a look?"

The ER doctor patted his back and laid his clipboard on the counter. "I gotta go—his chart is here."

"Thank you, Dr. Elman," he said somewhat distractedly, already pulling up a stool and bending over Birkhoff's hand. After a few moments he rose, strode over to examine the x-rays, then the chart before he came back, rubbing his left temple.

"Well?" Birkhoff croaked, gazing up at him. "You've got a pretty bad crush injury to your 2nd and 3rd MCPs," he stated. "We can either do surgery or go the conservative route, which is to set up an external fixation with K-wires."

Birkhoff glanced away. "That's what I was afraid of…conservative route, please."

The doctor eyed Alex. "Did Dr. Elman explain what that is?"

She shook her head. "Not so that we could understand it."

"You stick pins in my skin and wire me up, right doc?" Birkhoff sighed. "Do it then."

"Ok, looks like you know a little bit about the procedure," he smiled, glancing at Alex. "It is true, instead of surgery, which is an open fixation, we do an external fixation, tapping pins around the knuckles and connecting them with wires which hold the broken bones in place. Part of the wires are left exposed and are easily removed after three to four weeks."

"Sounds painful," Alex stated, glancing at Birkhoff's gray pallor. "Will he feel it?"

"Not if we administer a light anesthesia," he admitted, "assuming this is the route you desire to take."

"Just do it, doc," Birkhoff sighed, "the sooner the better. My hand's killing me."

"You've just had a local administered," he replied, scanning the notes from the ER physician. "I will set it up right away and you should be out of here by morning."

He opened his eyes. "No sooner?"

"I'm afraid not—we monitor you after the anesthesia, and given your other injuries it's best you remain here for that span of time anyway."

"Please, doctor—do whatever you have to do?" she pleaded.

He nodded. "Ok—we'll proceed then. I must set things up, but an anesthesiologist will be here shortly to begin. The surgical nurse will come in as well and go over everything pre- and post-procedurally. I'll set up a suite and take the x-rays there. See you soon, then."

She nodded, waiting until the door closed before leaning over Birkhoff. She kissed his temple, and he turned his head toward her, looking up at her with a dazed expression. "Sorry, babe," he sighed.

"None of this is your fault," she whispered, gently stroking his hair.

"It is," he said wearily. "I went along with Nikita's plan, knowing it was crazy."

Alex stared at him a minute. "This was Nikita's idea? Going after Division?"

"Oversight, to be exact," he replied. "I only went because she was going to do it alone."

"Oh Daniel," she murmured, leaning her cheek against his. "Your poor hand."

"I'll be ok," he reassured her, squeezing her hand. "Just stay close, ok? I like the mothering-wife thing."

She laughed softly, kissing his brow. "I'd love to…I'm sorry I wasn't around."

He moistened his lips. "Everything go ok over there?"

"Pretty smoothly," she admitted. "Someday I'll dress up in my old costume—I think you'll like it."

"I'd like you in any costume," he admitted, "better yet, none at all."

"Well I can tell you're feeling better already," she teased, laying her hand on his shoulder.

"It's the drugs, sweetheart," he joked tiredly, glancing toward the door. "You have a chance to make an identity switch over there, like we discussed?"

"'fraid not," she stated. "There wasn't time or opportunity."

He nodded. "Then why don't you check out the morgue here, while I'm being patched up?"

She stared at his unfocused gaze and half smile, astonished at his planning expertise. "You know that's a great idea. I might just do that, if they throw me out to work on your hand."

"Take my advice and don't watch," he replied. "I wouldn't, if I were you."

The door opened and a nurse came in with another IV bag. "Hello—I'm Janie Henderson. Dr. Pandara sent me in to get you going on your general, ok?"

She squeezed his shoulder, smiling at the nurse. "My husband will be more than happy to travel to La La Land," she stated. "He's in a lot of pain right about now."

"I'm sure," she breathed, hooking up the bag and checking his IV insertion site. "Let's just exchange drips, shall we? You haven't had anything to eat or drink in a while, have you?"

"He just had a few swallows of water a couple of hours ago, that's all," Alex answered. "What about the nasal packing? Does he have to keep that in?"

"I'm afraid so, at least until after 24 hours," she stated, unclamping the line. "Dr. Pandara briefed me in the hall. There you go—you should start to relax and feel pleasantly out of it within ten minutes."

"Let's go then," Birkhoff sighed, closing his eyes.

The nurse eyed her hesitantly. "After a few minutes I'm going to have you help me clean him up, ok? We need to change that shirt and get him in a Johnny and warm blanket."

Alex nodded, watching his face begin to relax, a smile playing about his lips. "He looks more comfortable already," she admitted.

"Poor guy," the nurse shook her head. "He's been through it tonight, hasn't he?"

Alex stroked his hair back off his temple, studying his face. "You have no idea…"

c. 2012 by Christine Levitt

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